5 Things Pakistan’s New Five-Star Field Marshal Should Be Worried About

In Pakistan, power doesn’t just wear a uniform—it parades in it. And when that uniform gets stitched with a Field Marshal’s insignia, you know it’s not just about rank. It’s legacy cosplay.

In Pakistan, power doesn’t just wear a uniform—it parades in it. And when that uniform gets stitched with a Field Marshal’s insignia, you know it’s not just about rank. It’s legacy cosplay. General Asim Munir’s elevation isn’t a just a bureaucratic footnote of a hybrid regime—it’s a flex of the sort we haven’t seen since Ayub Khan: one that drips with the nostalgia of empire, the perfume of coups, and the sparkle of beyond-five-star—did someone say presidential?—ambition.

Thus, Munir’s fifth star isn’t just ceremonial fluff. It’s strategic choreography. A promotion that doubles as the upgraded blueprint for continuing Operation Constitutional Assault. Munir isn’t just tightening his grip on GHQ’s internal power structure by pushing himself two stars away from the next general—he’s placing himself squarely in the storyboard of Pakistan’s political sequel for the coming years, even decade.

But symbolism is a double-edged sword. For every salute, there’s a side-eye. And beneath the pomp lies a minefield of missteps waiting to happen.

So, what should Pakistan’s new Field Marshal be plotting—and possibly losing sleep over?

Here are five barriers Asim Munir must navigate if he wants to keep all his stars shining and aligned.

1. Tenure: How Long Is Too Long?

In Pakistan the longer you stay, the messier your exit. Longevity isn’t legacy—it’s liability.

No Pakistan Army Chief has walked the extension tightrope without slipping. Musharraf, the Uber Extender—who traversed from being a sacked COAS to Chief Executive to Chairman of the Joint Chiefs to President to PML-Q Boss to MQM-Supremo to hanging his own Muslim League shingle—also flew too close to the sun. When he opted to patch up with India over Kashmir, the establishment rolled in for course correction and he ended up losing it all: first, his uniform, then his sherwani, and even his local residency.

Musharraf’s trusted deputy, who ended up playing a very able Brutus as the counter-coup coup maker was Ashfaq Pervez Kayani, who stayed on during the crucial years of Obama’s Drone War, working hand-in-glove with Langley as it executed an illegal drone campaign over Pakistan’s FATA; but after Osama bin Laden’s hit, which happened over his watch and grossly embarrassed the military, he was slandered widely from within and blamed for being too close to the Americans. Banned from traveling, Kayani eventually faded into the twilight of family corruption and all the RUMINT that Aabpara’s Media Wing could throw at him—from owning islands in the Pacific to ranches in Western Australia

The last of the great extenders, Qamar Javed Bajwa, left in ignominy. Sure, he was denied a third term, but worth billions by the end of his tenure. Still, he became fair game for wide critique, from social media trolls to even Uber drivers in Europe taking potshots at him. Crucially, GHQ needed a scapegoat to burn at Imran’s cross of popularity, and Bajwa’s been a convenient whipping boy for the Army since 2022.

But what about a takeover: Here too, Asim Munir knows the math.

He knows that on average, a Pakistani dictator lasts 8.25 years (that’s 11 years for Ayub + 2 years for Yahya + 11 years for Zia + 9 years for Musharraf = 33 years / 4). But that’s the average for a dictator, a usurper who has openly violated the Constitution and taken over, illegally.

But what about an Army Chief ruling legally through puppets and proxies via extensions? Yes, that means Kayani and Bajwa & Co. Well, they last as long as the Constitution allows them to last: from three years to another three years, and largely depends on the largesse of the prime minister in play.

Asim Munir hasn’t bothered gaming the system. Rather, he’s changed it, engineering the end of the COAS’s 3-year tenure, executed diligently through the 26th Amendment, his greatest Constitutional flex to date.

The 26th Amendment doesn’t just secure Munir a seat at the table for 5 years, with another 5 years added on for good measure if he wants them; it scripts a new era for him as “Army Chief Plus” — giving him his own table as a military leader who has been granted 10 years by the Constitution of Pakistan to stay put (the fact that parliamentarians were actually abducted to vote for the Amendment is now a mere footnote in Pakistan’s marred constitutional history).

Throw in the Field Marshal upgrade—granted not after a war, but after an intense fighter-drone-artillery-missile combat engagement repackaged as a major war—and you’re witnessing a bid for permanence, not just power.

And it doesn’t stop there. There’s noise of a 20-year master plan: a transition to Chairman Joint Chiefs? A Chief of Defence Staff role à la India? Even an operational Vice Chief of Army Staff gig to keep a four-star loyalist on standby?

Don’t bet on it. Munir’s old school, and a slow burn. He hasn’t hurried into major command reshuffles, and has surprised many with his thick skin. Plus, he’s fit, and still young, and clearly not done establishing himself further.

But empire-building inside GHQ requires more than confidence—it needs choreography. Because GHQ isn’t a fortress—it’s a federation. Of batches, branches, clans, cousins and conspirators. And within those walls, legitimacy isn’t inherited—it’s negotiated. Promotions, postings, pensions—all of it must be played like a chessboard, not a slot machine.

History doesn’t forget blunders. Musharraf iced the ISI’s hardliners and fumbled with India. Kayani leaned too hard on Washington, and that couldn’t prevent him from not making the headlines for corruption. Raheel Sharif knew when to dip: left on a high, polished the brand, and cashed in the Gulf card. Bajwa danced with Imran and Faiz, but realized too late that the two wanted to tango, without him. That’s when the music stopped for Pakistan’s civil-military system.

But things are humming again. And Munir needs to pull off the ultimate GHQ magic trick: stay long, but look restrained. Rule the roost, but don’t ruffle feathers. And do it all by the book, which he has conveniently rewritten, but is still not done drafting for.

That means managing the army, not just leading it. Reward the loyal, rotate the stars, keep every batch and group on the board, and crush all dissent.

Munir’s upgraded himself to the Emperor’s Suite of the Officers’ Mess of Power. He must be able to afford the booking. Because in Pakistan, five stars don’t just shine. They explode.

2. Public Support: High, But Not Forever

Right now, Asim Munir is riding high. Operation Bunyān un Marsoos handed him a rare victory and an even more rare wave of public applause. The media is in sync, but that’s because the ISI’s M-Wing runs it. State institutions are falling in line, and there’s a slight turnaround in the economy. Even The New York Times has taken note of the Field Marshal’s rising stock.

But the half-life of Pakistan’s public mood is drastically short. A stolen election, a robbed mandate, crushed dissent, and the stench of Imran’s Khan dishonorable discharge—a military-backed Vote of No Confidence, an inexplicable and a hijacked electoral landslide—still hangs heavy.

Euphoria fades with the din of cringe ISPR songs. And reality sets in monthly, not quarterly. Electricity bills don’t salute medals. Inflation doesn’t care about beyond-visual-range dogfights. The price of fuel or flour can dim a Field Marshal’s shine faster than any Times article. The “feel-good” window is already closing, but can Munir calibrate it to stay open longer? So far, he’s capitalized on the momentum. But soon, the question will shift: from military performance to everyday delivery. And ISPR’s campus visits and kitschy anthems will take him just that far.

That’s where optics must meet governance. He’ll need to go beyond the Apex Committees and the Corps Commander Conferences and the PMA graduations and the Garrison visits. Indeed, if Munir is interested in retaining public goodwill, he will have to think beyond carefully staged interactions. Sure, taking on India—the greatest yardstick of performance in the Pakistani military—has lengthened Munir’s lease on power, but if he really wants to rule, he will have to juggle between commanding loyalty and earning likability.

Till recently, Munir was too hated and too controversial to be able to afford to become the distant, stoic figure of military myth. That might work in the barracks—but not in the bazaars. Local popularity isn’t a bonus anymore. It’s the prize for longevity and stability. And unlike war, public sentiment can’t be ordered. It must be earned—again and again.

3. Imran Khan: Can’t Be Looped Out Indefinitely

660 days and counting. Imran Khan remains locked up—but not locked out. Physically confined, yet politically unleashed. He’s not just surviving his exile—he’s mythologizing it. And while the Army keeps fumbling the Imran playbook—flip-flopping between hardline, hesitation and horse trading—his grip on the public’s imagination only hardens as the two-year mark of his detention approaches.

The Field Marshal may want Khan erased from the chessboard. But this is 4D Chess, and Imran’s presence is only magnified by absence.

Khan still commands the vote and loyalty of millions—especially across KP, Punjab, the Pashtun parts of Balochistan, a good chunk of Karachi. His target demographic: the increasingly restless urban middle class stuck between inflation, indignation and immigration. Excluding him means stifling their voice, which resonates even more loudly on X and TikTok when not allowed on the ground. And in a country that’s already brittle, silencing that many only triggers further fractures.

There’s a strategic case for inclusion. Not a reunion—just a recalibration. Call it transactional peace. A cold handshake for the sake of political oxygen and stability. Because if Khan’s base walks away from ballots and drifts into radicalism or apathy, the state loses more than votes—it loses the script of stability. The polarization and institutional contempt triggered by Khan’s continued plight is exactly what the Indians were hoping was the case in the planning of Operation Sindoor. And it is exactly what Modi is still hoping for, in his latest appeal to the Pakistani youth to march against the state.

As for Khan, he’s in no rush. Lost somewhere between the disappointment of a floundering party leadership, a bumbling sister, and his obsession with martyrdom, he’s waiting—watching Munir burn political capital, mismanage optics, mishandle allies, waiting for mistakes to stack up, for the tide to shift.

This is his long game. Survival as spectacle. Plus, his idols are Mandela and Mahatir: Both aged well and managed late-life comebacks. In a way, Khan’s plan is pretty basic: he thinks that as long as he has his bench press and stationary bike, he can wheel back to power. It’s not going to work, at least not in the short run: he will have to bend the knee, accept the official February 8 Election results, the 26th Amendment, along with all its trappings, and live to fight till the 2028 elections.

But here’s the real dilemma: how do you reintroduce a rival into the mainstream without looking weak? And why would the most powerful man in Pakistan even want to share the stage with an international rock-star maverick politician like Khan on the loose?

There’s the paradox. For Munir, compromise might feel like defeat. But strategically, it could be the last off ramp before the road turns rough.

The Field Marshal may hold command—but Khan still owns the crowd. And unless the state wants to rule a fractured republic with fear, Khan’s reintegration isn’t just an option—it’s a requirement, especially as he is fabled in the KP / Punjab heartland where the military recruits men from, and depends upon for political reserves.

Thus, optically and critically, Khan’s inclusion doesn’t mean Munir’s endorsement. But Khan’s exclusion could mean civil-military implosion. Munir has to choose what’s riskier: Khan’s return—or the republic’s internal unraveling.

4. International Outreach: Repair and Rebrand

With his elevation and check on India, Asim Munir didn’t just rise in rank—he’s also stepped onto the international stage. But outside Pakistan, the applause isn’t unanimous. In fact, it’s barely audible.

India moved fast. Within days, South Block dispatched Shashi Tharoor to enthrall global audiences about Pakistan’s terror footprint, and has just also sent Vikram Misri to streamline next moves with the State Department. Meanwhile, Foreign Minister S. Jaishankar has taken specific aim, painting Munir as an extremist in uniform, citing him as the dog whistler of the Pahalgam terror attack, and warning that he isn’t just a general, rather the Islamic world’s next radical leader.

Meanwhile, because Imran Khan’s anti-establishment narrative has found critical oxygen in the West, members of Congress, rights groups, diaspora media, and editorial boards have been framing Munir not as a stabilizer, but as the architect of a militarized crackdown. If one was to compare that dark cloud to any rosy reviews about Pakistan, well, besides Donald Trump’s public approval, just slivers of positive coverage about the Pakistani economy’s slow turnaround have been seen over the past few months. Apart from that, Munir’s either not known too well, or not cared for much. No major newspaper or magazine has done a profile on him. Little is known about him beyond the diatribes of former military officers on YouTube. If the Indians continue to target him—which they’re very capable of—Munir risks hemorrhaging legitimacy overseas, becoming shorthand for suppression, instead of a statesman.

Right now, others are scripting his global image faster than he is. And that’s a problem. For a man planning to outlast his own term, international perception isn’t optional, rather critical. If Munir wants staying power, he needs a reset featuring internal repairs and a broad rebrand. The Field Marshal title is permanent. But the legacy that comes with it? Still malleable by a global and local press that holds the Pakistani military in broad disdain.

Thus, if he is positioned to lead Pakistan into the next chapter, Munir first needs to control the narrative beyond its borders. Because in geopolitics—as in war—if you don’t shape perception, someone else will. And much as I’m not a fan of usurpers, well, if we’ve got one, then might as well make sure he’s a good one.

5. Battle Damage Assessment: Time for Brutal Honesty

Operation Bunyān al-Marsoos gave Pakistan a much-needed morale boost. Indian jets crashed and burnt, ISPR briefings became national concerts, and the military’s star burned brighter. But brouhaha lay a familiar problem—one that is now impossible to ignore.

Once again, the Air Force carried the day. The PAF stood tall under pressure, but it stood alone. The Navy was deployed, but not tested. The weakest link was Army Air Defense, which faltered—struggling to intercept precision strikes, failing to deter escalation. Analysts have opined that the Army’s Air Defense Command wasn’t well trained and integrated well into the Air Force-dominated ISR (Intelligence, Surveillance, Reconnaissance) domain of electronic warfare.

This isn’t a doctrine. It’s a default setting. And it's dangerous.

Pakistan can’t keep leaning on air power and nuclear ambiguity as a substitute for full-spectrum preparedness. That’s not strategy—it’s survival theater.

Meanwhile, across the border, India is undergoing a military evolution: three integrated theatre commands—for Pakistan, China, and the Indian Ocean. This isn’t just rebranding—it’s reform. Multi-domain warfare is the endgame: air, land, sea, cyber, space, missiles—all under one roof, built to fight on multiple fronts, all at once.

And Pakistan?

No structural shift (the same 9 Corps under the same old GHQ with the same old 40 something divisions). No doctrinal rethink (at least, not announced or debated). And still no modern joint command. The budget still tilts heavily toward the Army, while the Navy and Air Force wait in the lobby. Cyber, AI, and space programs? Siloed, scattered, underfunded—and not run jointly, either.

For Munir, this is the crossroads. His elevation gives him the spotlight, but also a larger responsibility to equitably reform all three services. India’s not going to stop its military buildup. If it’s legacy he seeks, well, Pakistan’s seen all sorts of dictators before. If he wants to be a useful usurper, then only the structural transformation of the Army-centric Pakistani military will make him, along with critical governance and economic reforms.

From the Field Marshal, what’s required is something rarely seen of late from our men in uniform: honesty. Honesty about what’s broken—before the next battlefield outcome exposes it. That means work needs to start on…

• Rebuilding Army Air Defense—layered missile shields, integrated ISR, and real-time threat response to multiple layers and vectors of Indian platforms.

• Expanding naval posture—from green water limitations to strategic deterrence in the Arabian Sea, the Navy needs to move to be able to a) clearly kill Indian submarines and b) deter their carrier groups from blockade-positioning. Critically, the Navy needs to convert some of its decks for aerial assets: UAVs launched from frigates to storm Mumbai or Gujarat? Why not?

• Doubling down on the Air Force—with serious investment in next-gen platforms, tactical depth, better defended airbases and sustained combat-readiness, not just extensions for the Air Chief.

• And finally, a modern joint command—meaning truly tri-service cohesion that isn’t just ceremonial CJCSC fluff, but new, integrated combat-capable ops room that’s also linked in with the Chinese, ISPR, CENTCOM and beyond.

Final Note: Titles Fade. Accountability Doesn’t.

Asim Munir hasn’t just been promoted—he’s inherited a paradox. The Field Marshal title is draped in prestige, but stitched with pressure. In a country where brass outshines ballots and symbolism often masquerades as substance, this isn’t a reward. It’s a reckoning.

Right now, Munir stands at the intersection of ambition, anxiety, and expectation. He has the rank. He has the runway. He may even have the resolve to recalibrate civil-military relations.

But none of it will matter if the system doesn’t evolve with the ceremony and pomp.

The fault lines are already forming. His tenure may stretch long—but fractures within the ranks could shorten it fast. His popularity has momentum—but momentum bleeds when the public sees no material change, and when the ranks start gossiping in front of the file.

His erasure of Imran Khan might feel tactically sound for people like Finance Minister Mohammad Aurungzeb, whom I bumped into at the Harvard Pakistan Conference last month, and who snubbed my concern about Munir’s legitimacy by comparing him to Singapore’s Lee Kuan Yew, praising him for his “timely and required pragmatism”—but it risks internal political combustion. Abroad, Munir’s image is being authored by adversaries, not allies. And at home, beneath the latest PR gloss, the armed forces remain doctrinally stale and strategically slow.

This isn’t a time for grandiose parades or revisionist myth-making. Sure, ISPR can contract out the latest drama series to HUM TV, where Mahira Khan can embellish her patriotic credentials and challenge India, this time in a PAF uniform. But on the adult’s table, it’s time for clarity, and for dispassionate, professional reform within the armed forces, as well as for strategic realignment of the civil-military and economic order. Parades can impress. PowerPoints can dazzle. But when the next crisis comes—and it will, because Modi’s promised it—optics won’t hold the line. Preparedness will.

Crucially, Munir must resist the seduction of legacy by optics. He must repair—not just command—GHQ. Rebuild trust across civilian power centers. And reintroduce himself to the world—not as a throwback to Zia, but as a forward-facing modernist in an unstable region.

The rank of Field Marshal is borrowed from history. But the mission demands that it must operationalized for the future.

Because if this rank becomes just another ceremonial awning on an already top-heavy military edifice, we will collapse under the weight of the next crisis.

Pakistan doesn’t need another five-star general to echo what it is.

It needs one who can imagine what it could be.

If Munir pulls that off, he might just restore credibility to the cloth.

If not—Pakistan’s mirror of history is already polished, and also resplendent with self-inflicted cracks.